


you won't ask and i won't say

by littlelocaldreamer



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019 Offseason, Angst, Barebacking, Chicago Blackhawks, Childhood Memories, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Protectiveness, Strained Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 20:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20180620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelocaldreamer/pseuds/littlelocaldreamer
Summary: He and Patrick have come so far— god, so many miles.





	you won't ask and i won't say

**Author's Note:**

> set during the 2019 blackhawks convention, following patrick's childhood story about his father making him play on the ice despite having a broken wrist. title from "somewhere with you"

Jonny watches him all night, never too far away. 

Of course he knows this story. He knows everything about Patrick. 

But the first time Jonny heard it, it’d been in the comfort of his own bed, in the safety of his own home, with Patrick trembling in his arms, eyes squeezed shut against Jonny’s bare chest.

“He kept pushing, couldn’t be stopped—“

Jonny’s eyes had welled with tears and he remembers feeling grateful that Patrick was sharing this secret with him in the middle of the night because he needed to be strong and composed. So he held Pat as tight as he could, never confessing he needed the touch just as much. 

It’s shocking to hear this story again. And so public a stage. 

Red blurs the edge of Jonny’s vision—jarring and impossible to ignore. 

“Okay, gimme the cast—“ he hears Patrick tell the crowd, and he grits his teeth as laughter ensues. 

He shakes his head, biting down hard on his bottom lip as he turns and begins walking away, needing a minute. 

Duncs squeezes his shoulder as he passes but otherwise doesn’t try to stop him. 

He opens a set of heavy doors, forcing a smile in the direction of the rookies posing for Snapchat. 

Boqvist and Dach’s eyes light up and they wave entirely too eagerly. Jonny forces down the burst of affection in his chest, focusing on getting out of the public eye as quickly as possible. 

It’s too early to leave the convention, he still has his own separate panel, so he breaks towards the private balcony PR set up for them earlier in the day. 

Someone calls his name, maybe Shawzy, but it sounds far enough away that he ignores them, ready to play it off if they come closer. 

He breathes a deep sigh of relief when he gets outside, moving towards the edge and gripping the guardrails tightly when he gets there.

He looks around, the space deserted. 

He closes his eyes, reflecting. 

He and Patrick have come so far— god, so many miles. It took years for them to get to where they are today, happily living and nesting together in a gorgeous home designed by the both of them on the North Shore. 

He shakes his shoulders out, loosening his grip. The back of his neck feels hot, the tips of his toes too. He’s trying so hard to control the flush but all he can think about is Pat as a kid—defenseless, lost. Anxious to please. His dad pushing him both on and off the ice— making him shoot over and over again despite a damaged wrist. 

Jonny’s always known about Patrick’s strained relationship with his father, even before they were together. When they were rookies he always found it strange that Tiki insisted on following him around like a shadow. 

“He’s looking out for me,” he told Jonny one night, years ago, soft yet defensive in the quiet of their hotel room. They were laying in separate beds, both staring at the ceiling. Jonny was ardently trying to figure out how to close the distance between them but he couldn’t come up with anything— not when the presence of Pat’s dad was already between them. 

“Kaner, he—“ hurts you, is what Jonny intended to say, but he closed his mouth and his eyes, rolling over instead.

When Jonny was given the C he was able to influence the situation— not by a lot, barely even a little, but out on the ice, he was free to be as close to Pat as possible, operating under guidance pretenses.

Slowly but surely, their dynamic began to strengthen. 

For Jonny, his (then) untapped need to protect Patrick was temporarily soothed. And for Patrick, he began allowing himself to feel safe, even quitting glancing up into the stands during practices after awhile.

It was better than nothing. 

Especially when Patrick would melt into Jonny’s embrace—whether for a second or a deep breath—those moments mattered. They became the building blocks to their relationship.

With Jonny, Patrick learned how to let go. How to not be so hard on himself, how to thrive under the right type of pressure. And with Patrick, Jonny learned to provide security, reassurance and dependency— words bred from support and acceptance, rather than doubt and disappointment. 

And when Patrick suffered a broken collarbone and wanted no one but Jonny to help heal him, to see him like that—Jonny returned that vulnerability and finally closed the distance between them, kissing him calm in the face of self-induced panic.

Once they started, their partnership became inexorable. Teammates in sport, love and life. They fought hard, celebrated harder, and sometimes pushed one another too far.

But they always came back. 

Jonny drops his head down between his biceps, taking another deep breath. 

All the pain and heartache they’ve weathered just for Jonny to fall apart under the scrutiny of Patrick’s family. He rubs a hand down the side of his face, scoffing. 

He glances out at the lights of Chicago. His big gorgeous city, his Midwest home. Where he hopes to raise a family someday.

With Patrick. 

“Fuck,” he breathes quietly, trying to find some sort of interim balance between his head and his heart.

“Pull it together, Toews,” he whispers, furious and annoyed.

It’s just. Patrick is everything to him. He’s his best friend, his loudest advocate. A major pain in his ass. The love of his life.

And to think of a time where Patrick was hurting and Jonny couldn’t be there to take that away—

He coughs violently, shoving down the wave of panic rising in his throat. 

“Jonathan?”

He startles so violently his entire body shakes, completely surprised by the Hawks staff member standing at the door. 

He straightens up, squaring his shoulders. 

“Sorry,” he says, sheepish and a little pink. 

The girl, whose name he guilty can’t recall, smiles. She holds up her watch, ever professional. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you. You’re expected in 15. Do you need anything?”

He shakes his head, giving her what he hopes is a charming grin. “I’m fine, thanks.” 

Her brow furrows briefly, and for a terrifying second Jonny wonders if she’s actually going to ask what’s wrong. But when she opens her mouth all she says is, “Shall we?”

He clasps his hands together, trying to ignore how clammy they feel. “Lead the way.”

As he follows her inside, he glances towards the direction of Patrick’s panel. He resists the urge to catch one more glimpse, swallowing down the lump in his throat. 

\\\

He ends up staying later than planned, being the Captain and all. He has a lot of people to talk to, with press and PR and families of the younger prospects. He splits duties up between Duncs and Seabs but it’s still pushing 1AM by the time he gets home.

He’s quiet as he makes his way through the house, turning off then rearming the security system before flicking the dim oven light off. He begins unbuttoning his dress shirt as he starts down the long hallway. 

The bedroom door is slightly ajar and he tip toes through it, careful to be quiet as he sneaks into the bathroom. He washes his face, brushes his teeth—tries to ignore how drained he looks in the mirror. 

He started off the night energetic and optimistic about the future of the Hawks. But he couldn’t help incessantly replaying Patrick’s story in his head, heart clenching down a little harder each time. 

He sighs as he undresses, too tired to sort his suit back in its proper place in the walk-in. He’ll deal with wrinkles tomorrow. 

He flicks the light before heading into the bedroom, attentive with his movements. In the dark he can just barely make out Patrick’s silhouette, head turned away from him and facing the windows.

Jonny lifts up a corner of their plain white comforter, the one they only use in the summer. It’s cozy yet breezy—material light and soft against his bare skin as he climbs in. 

Patrick hardly stirs as Jonny slides up along his back, skin sleep warm and smooth against Jonny’s chest. 

“Mmm,” he mumbles, quiet and low, “Jon?”

Jonny pulls him flush against his chest, fighting down the wave of protectiveness nearly engulfing his throat. 

“Hey babe,” he whispers back, eyes heavy and drooping, “go back to sleep, eh?”

He curls an arm under Patrick’s pillow and brings the other over his hip to rest low on his stomach. Patrick lets out a satisfied sigh, sluggishly scooting even further into him. 

Jonny can’t help but squeeze him, just the tiniest bit, just for a moment—needing him to know he’s safe, always safe in his arms. 

“Love you,” Patrick breathes, bringing a hand to clumsily grasp at the one Jonny’s got on his belly. 

Jonny presses a kiss to the teasing nape of his neck, careful and adoring. “I love you, too.”

\\\

Jonny wants to talk about the night before first thing in the morning, but when he wakes to warmth and suction and aching arousal—he forgets whatever was on his mind, groaning out from deep within his chest. 

“Baby,” he gasps, clutching at the covers. It feels like a furnace below them and Jonny shudders as he lifts them, needing to see—

Patrick’s head is tilted to the side, bubblegum pink lips already shining with wet. He pulls back on Jonny’s cock, glancing up at him with cloudy blue eyes.

Jonny reaches a hand out, stroking his thumb over the flushed plump of Patrick’s bottom lip, dipping it into the warm cavern of his mouth. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, hips arching, smearing his cockhead against the jut of Patrick’s cheekbone as he wraps his lips around Jonny’s thumb and sucks. 

They keep their eyes locked as Jonny attempts to calm down. They usually mess around in the morning if time permits it but he’s still so strung out about last night—instincts on edge, desperate to keep Patrick grounded and secure. 

His nostrils flare and he bites down hard on his tongue, suddenly needing to be as close to Patrick as possible. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs, voice soft and sleep scratchy. 

Patrick pulls his mouth off Jonny’s thumb with a pop, licking the tip before laying his hands down on Jonny’s strong, thick thighs and pulling himself up. 

His abs clench as his body moves over Jonny’s and Jonny’s blown away by how that still gets him so hot—even after all this time. Every player in the league knows that Patrick Kane has a good body. But none of them get to see it like this—bare and completely vulnerable with a hint of sweat.

And the knowledge of that does something to Jonny. More than he’d care to admit. 

“Hi,” Patrick murmurs, pressing a brief kiss to his chin. 

He moves even further up, settling down comfortably in Jonny’s lap, sensitive inner thighs stretched wide over Jonny’s own. Pat’s always liked this position, likes it even more with Jonny in his, but today it feels calculated- the look on his face barely shielding concern. 

Jonny opens his mouth but Patrick places two fingers on his bottom lip, gently pushing them inside before he can say anything. 

He rubs them slowly back and forth over Jonny’s tongue, getting them wet in the mess of drool collecting under Jonny’s tongue. 

Jonny places his big hands on Patrick’s perfect ass, holding a cheek in each and dragging Pat even closer to him as he sucks on his fingers.

His heart lurches in his throat when he dips his fingers in the cleft, finding Patrick already wet and loose.

He must’ve worked himself open while Jonny slept, unaware and deep in dreams. 

“Pat,” he groans, somewhat gurgles, around the digits in his mouth. 

Patrick leans forward, brushing his lips against Jonny’s eyebrow as he tells him, “I know you’re upset—“

Jonny makes a hurt noise in the back of his throat, pulling Patrick so close they practically mold together.

“—but I’m okay, now.”

Jonny closes his eyes, tilting his head to the side as Patrick presses tender, barely-there kisses along his jawline. 

“I’ve been okay for a long time,” Patrick confesses, quiet and cautious against Jonny’s throat, “I’ve had you for a long time.”

Jonny pulls Patrick’s fingers out of his mouth, can’t not, after that—and brings their mouths together in the deepest of kisses. Patrick’s lips part for his immediately, breathing stuttering in the smallest of sounds. Jonny drinks them in, takes whatever Patrick will give him as he wraps his arms around the summer toned muscles of his back. 

“Patrick,” Jonny breathes into his mouth, holding on as tight as he can. He’s overwhelmed suddenly; can feel so many words bubbling up, heart racing and near bursting—but when Patrick brings his hands up and curls them around the back of Jonny’s head, he loses all train of thought. 

Patrick rubs at the tense muscles, cradling his head and calming Jonny down as he alternates between sucking on his tongue and biting at his lips.

“God, Peeks,” Jonny sighs, “you feel so good.”

“Mmm, you’re so warm,” Patrick replies, burying his face in Jonny’s neck, “always so hot.”

Patrick grinds his cock into his tanned abs, whimpering under his breath as he does so. He’s already leaking, worked up from sucking Jonny’s cock. He puts his back into his movements, thrusting atop Jonny in a teasing, fleeting mimicry of fucking. 

Jonny’s sticky, swollen cock rubs between Patrick’s cheeks, flushed and wet. He brings his hands back down, spreading his cheeks to fit snugly in between then pushing them together—shivering at the sensation of Pat clenching around him. 

“Oh fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back against the headboard and banging it lightly.

“Babe,” Pat admonishes, breathless and with a hint of a laugh, “watch yourself.”

Jonny smiles up at him, the most genuine and sincere look he can manage in this state, and can physically feel his heart inflate as the look is returned. 

Pat grinds harder into him, soft hands growing damp with sweat as his movements grow more and more frenzied.

He gasps, “Don’t think I can hold out—“

Jonny pulls him in even closer, latching onto his neck and biting down before grunting, “C’mon Peeks—“

Patrick rides him as if they were fucking for real, holding onto Jonny’s shoulders tight enough that his bitten nails scrape against his skin. 

Jonny watches him throw his head back, enamored and so turned on. “That’s it baby, that’s it, fuck yourself on me—“

“Jon, I’m—“ his thrusts speed up, frantic and uncontrolled. Jonny lets go of a cheek, bringing his hand around to grip Patrick’s cock, barely giving it a handful of strokes before Patrick’s coming hot all over the both of them. 

“Oh fuck, oh my god—“

Jonny speeds up his hand, paying special attention to the head with a sensual swipe of his thumb as the slit pulses out more liquid. 

“Look at you,” Jonny marvels, eyes hazy and lips chapped. His throat suddenly bone dry.

Patrick leans down to kiss him, wet his lips with his own, bringing his hand between them to swipe through some of the mess. He brings his fingers up, hovering, and sucks in a sharp breath when Jonny takes them into his mouth- sucking intently. 

“Goddammit Jonny—“

Like Patrick Kane doesn’t have a filthy fucking mouth. 

Jonny bites him, just a little, and Patrick slips his fingers free, running them back and forth across Jonny’s cheek—only a little. Merely a graze. But the touch has Jonny shifting up, cock aching. His hands come to Patrick’s middle, pushing lightly. “Turn around?” 

He hates how out of breath he sounds. 

Patrick smirks, “Yeah? Like that?”

Jonny leans up, nipping at his jaw, sliding a hand into his curls so he can tilt his head. He whispers, low and hot, directly into Patrick’s ear, “Yeah—gonna fuck you like that.”

Patrick tilts his head back, pressing frenetic kisses into Jonny’s hairline before taking a deep breath of his scent. 

“Always smell so good,” he murmurs, pressing a final kiss to Jonny’s temple. 

Jonny smiles, soft and fond, moving with Pat to the edge of the bed. 

This position isn’t Patrick’s favorite—years of doubt and insecurity surrounding his size made it so—but every now and then he’ll allow Jonny to envelop him. When he really needs it. 

Patrick can always tell when he does. 

Jonny manhandles him atop his lap, back to chest, spreading his thighs wide atop his own. Patrick always feels so exposed this way, so raw.

But Jonny needs it. And even though he finds it harder to admit, Patrick needs it too. Needs to feel Jonny fill him up like that—deep inside. 

Jonny slicks up his fingers, taking care to warm the liquid before plunging two inside Patrick’s body. 

Patrick sucks in his lower stomach, crying out when Jonny finds his prostate near immediately. 

“That’s it baby, there it is,” he says encouragingly, curling his fingers up and in. 

Patrick whimpers, trying to close his legs but they’re trapped behind Jonny’s massive thighs, anchored by muscle. 

Jonny prods at the sensitive gland, determined to get Patrick hard again. 

Patrick turns his head, panting with glistening skin. He whispers into Jonny’s mouth, voice higher than usual, “I can’t—Jonny, it’s too much—“

Jonny slows the pace of his fingers, gliding them in and out in a more subdued manner. 

“You okay?”

Patrick gulps, loud in the quiet of their room. “Yeah...I think I’m good—“ his speech slurs slightly as Jonny gently rubs his fingers along his slick inner walls, enjoying the sensation of being filled so intimately. 

Jonny bites down on Patrick’s neck, swiping his tongue over the bittersweet salt of his sweat. “Wana put my cock in you—“

“Do it, do it now—“ Patrick pleads, thighs shaking.

“Hold onto me, let me take care of you—“

Patrick does as he told, hands coming down to grip at Jonny’s hips as Jonny pulls his fingers out and lines himself up, slowly inching into Patrick’s body. 

“God,” he mutters, looking over Pat’s shoulder down to where they’re connecting, “you’re so tight—you’re always—“

He breaks off as one of Patrick’s hands comes up behind him, gripping at the back of Jonny’s neck as he allows himself to sink down on his cock. 

Jonny lets out a pornographic sound, letting his face fall into the back of Patrick’s neck as he squeezes his eyes shut. The sensation of being clutched in his body this way—being held inside him—it’s overpowering. 

Patrick takes control, fingernails digging into Jonny’s neck as he fully anchors himself atop his lap. 

“Tazer,” he whispers, voice wavering.

Jonny’s hands move slowly back and forth along Patrick’s inner thighs. “What do you need? Peeks, tell me.”

“Move, please move—“

Jonny slowly adjusts his hips, moving up into Patrick before slowly pulling back, letting him get used to the motion before he thrusts in deep- eliciting a mutual groan from the both of them. 

“Fuck Jonny, keep going—“

“Yeah?”

“Give it to me.” Patrick turns, desperately seeking out his mouth, breathing a sigh of relief when Jonny brings their lips together in a filthy, slick glide. 

Jonny’s thrusts start measured, but given all the emotion and angst from the past day, he really can’t hold out long.

When they first started sleeping together, Patrick used to comment on how hot it was when Jonny—who had the focus of a Jedi Master—lost all sense of balance and just brutally took it out on Patrick, going total caveman. 

Jonny’d been self-conscious the first time Patrick brought it up, whispering “I don’t want to hurt you” into his neck. 

“Hurt me,” Patrick whispered back with a sleazy grin, “you’re strong—but baby, I can take it. I want to take it.”

Those words run in an endless loop inside Jonny’s head now, spurring him on the wetter he gets inside Patrick’s body. 

He brings an arm across Patrick’s broad chest, keeping him plastered against him. He’d crawl inside Patrick right now if he could—aching to be as close as he can. 

Patrick brings an arm down over his, intertwining their fingers. “That’s it, baby. Come on—come in me—“

Jonny tightens his hold, bringing his other hand up to cradle Patrick’s jaw, bringing their mouths together again in a hot, panting mess. 

“I’m gonna—“

His cock jerks, orgasm cresting from the head as he continues to grip Patrick as tightly as he can, grinding deep as the waves of his pleasure peak over and over and then gradually, gently wane. 

Patrick arches his back, clenching down and milking Jonny’s cock for every last drop. They’ve gotten so good at this over the years, learning each other’s bodies quite literally inside and out. When Patrick comes inside, he has to pull out fairly quickly— too sensitive. But when Jonny comes inside, he tries to stay put as long as he can. 

They make such a good team. Always better together. 

Jonny bites Patrick’s bottom lip, sighing. “God. I love you.”

Patrick noses at his hair again, leaning in to lick at the shell of his ear, murmuring, “I love you, Jonny.”

The sun drapes their bedroom in a vibrant mid morning glow, making their bed feel like a warm puffy cloud. Jonny’s floating, suddenly exhausted.

He pulls out, barely even coherent when Patrick leaves then returns with a warm cloth, cleaning them both off. 

\\\

They’re sitting around the kitchen island later, dressed and ready for day 2 of the convention. 

“Are we gonna talk about it?” Jonny asks, taking a sip of his coffee. 

Patrick’s chopping up a couple of potatoes for later, careful of his hand placement. He doesn’t look up as he says, “Think we talked enough this morning.”

Jonny blushes, rolling his eyes. “Patrick.”

Patrick sets the knife down, turning to him with a raised eyebrow. “It’s like that, huh? I’ll take that orgasm back, now.”

Jonny huffs, exasperated and fond. “Come over here.”

Patrick nods towards the produce then checks his stupidly expensive watch that Panarin gifted him. 

“Don’t know if I’ve got the time, Jon.”

But he pushes the cutting tray back, wiping his hands under the tap water briefly before walking over. Jonny’s on the stool so they’re almost the exact same height when Patrick gets to him. 

“Hey,” Jonny says, smirking.

“Hi,” Patrick responds, giving his best flirty smile. The smile that Jonny fell for immediately—even if it caused him a lot of confusion and broody masterbation sessions in the beginning. 

“There’s my look.”

Jonny opens his arms, tenderness written all over his face as Patrick steps in close between the V of his legs. 

He wraps himself around Patrick’s shoulders, god—they’re so broad. And presses a kiss to his cheekbone. 

He lowers his voice, “We don’t need to talk.”

He closes his eyes as Patrick breathes out, gentle and even.

He almost struggles with what he wants to say next—Patrick’s parents never an easy topic—but once he starts it’s surprisingly easy not to stop. 

“Just listen...You’ve been through a lot. And I know you take strength from those who need you. And you’re so strong. I just—“ He leans closer, pressing their bodies flush.

Patrick’s trembling, just barely. Jonny presses his nose to his pulse point, hoping the action will settle whatever it is in Pat that always keeps him running so far ahead.

“I need you to know you can take strength from me, too. Okay? I’m always going to take care of you.”

The words get slightly muddled against Patrick’s skin but the message is received with clarity by the way he tightens his hold around Jonny’s middle. 

He tucks his face into Jonny’s neck, quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice shakes. 

“Jonny—I—it’s never gonna be what—“ he breaks off and nuzzles further in, bashful and a little off kilter. 

Their conversations don’t usually get so emotional. There was so much misery and misunderstanding in the beginning—so much unbearable weight—that now they keep things relatively light. With the exception of sex—that’s always intense. 

But this conversation is important. Jonny can feel it. 

And he just needs Pat to know that he’s while he’s vital to many- he doesn’t need to handle it alone. 

He says as much. 

“Hey, it’s okay yeah? I’m here. You don’t need to say anything. You don’t owe me anything. Just—I’m here.”

Patrick nods, pressing his nose into Jonny’s skin as he whispers, “You’re here”, in the softest of tones.

God, Jonny loves him so much. 

“I’m with you.”

Patrick’s had to play into other people’s perceptions and expectations of him his entire career. Even after he went pro, he still wasn’t calling the shots in his own life. 

His family is...invasive. 

But they’re still his family. 

Jonny can only do so much without pushing Patrick away. 

So what he can do is give him a home, a safe space just for them and nobody else. And when the world gets to be too much- he has somewhere he can seek solace.

It'll do in the meantime. They’ll figure it out. 

He moves a hand to the back of Patrick’s head, smoothing down the hair. He nudges his face with his own, seeking a kiss.

Patrick gives it to him, doesn’t make him wait.

And when they pull apart, barely any space between them, Jonny knows he can let it go. Patrick may tell him all his familial history someday, all the anger and late nights and frustration— or he may not. It doesn't matter.

What matters is that Patrick’s past self doesn’t need Jonny. His future does. And for now, that's enough. 

For now, that's everything.

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you thought! first foray into this fandom. my spiral into kazer hell has been absolutely delightful. tumblr: littlelocaldreamer88


End file.
